


Go your seeking, soul

by phalangine



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Disabled Character, Family Dynamics, First Time, M/M, Pining, Unconventional Families, author is aware this is not realistic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 10:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7433372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a fit of pique, Erik became a donor at a sperm bank. Years later, through an online site that matches donors to the children born from them, he meets the children and their father, Charles. As much as he wishes he could be more present in their lives, he is happy just to know them. The real trouble is, Erik has feelings for Charles that go beyond the easy friendship the man offers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go your seeking, soul

**Author's Note:**

> see the end notes for content warnings

It is possible, Erik reflects, that this was not the brilliant idea he thought it was. He has come here four times, this visit included, and the more he thinks about it, the more unsettling the process is. When he signed up, coming to the “masturbatorium”- the staff’s term for the brutally clinical room Erik is currently on a chair HaShem knows how many others have sat in, doing what he is about to do- a few times a week to fill a jar seemed like a perfect plan. He would make kids, and he would not have to sleep with any women to accomplish the feat. Perfect.

The problem is Erik may not want to sleep with any women, but he does want kids. He wants to raise them as his parents raised him. He wants to make them laugh and teach them to do things. He wants to be there as they grow.

Making children this way removes all of that. Erik will be a number, not a father. He will never meet his progeny. They will never know where they came from- and they may never want to.

Still, he signed a contract, so, doing his best to ignore the giant mural across the room from him of a scantily clothed woman that is doing more to make him soft than turn him on, Erik takes a deep breath in, lets that breath out, reaches down, and gets to work fulfilling his legal obligations.

As if to make up for the untimely revelation, the female staffer- they are all female, all of them- is busily typing away and does not try to make eye contact as Erik hands over the jar and makes a rapid escape.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"Erik!"

Charles is in the doorway, leaning precariously far forward in his chair, when Erik arrives. "I am so sorry. If anyone else had been available..."

Erik waves the apology aside. "I meant it when I said I'd like to get to know the children better. You need someone to watch them, and I'm available. It's fine."

"Right, yes, of course." Charles smiles, tighter than usual but relieved, and rolls backwards to let Erik into the apartment. "I'd hoped that would mean you and the children having a nice afternoon luncheon or a playdate, not making you a babysit them..."

The children are already waiting in the living room. The twins spring to their feet when they spot Erik; their sister, who is too small to manage the same, merely sits up taller to peer up at him. It's been nearly six months since Erik met them, but something strange and not entirely unpleasant squeezes tight in his chest at the sight. His children- and not his children.

How can Charles stand it? How can he bear to let Erik into their lives as if he has any claim to this little family?

Four pairs of eyes take him in as he swallows back the panic. Gray for Pietro, green for Wanda and Lorna, blue for Charles. Charles Xavier, Erik's children's father. The man currently watching Erik with a soft expression that says Charles can see right through him. All Erik's fears, his shortcomings- this man can see them all, and he still trusts Erik with the most precious things he has.

"I shouldn't be gone more than two hours," Charles tells him softly. "But if I'm not home by six, feel free to eat whatever, or order in. There are menus on the fridge, and the twins know where the takeout cash is. I have my phone, so don't hesitate to call or send me a message should anything come up. Not that I think you'll need it."

Erik quashes the instinctive protest that he _will_ need it. That he has no idea what children like, or what they want, and Charles can't possibly leave him here alone unsupervised. Erik can handle this. He can help Charles and look after the children.

"Good luck with your appointment," he says for lack of a better response. Charles hadn't said why he has to leave, and Erik isn't comfortable enough to ask. Being trusted to look after the children is already more than Erik ever dreamed he would be allowed. He won’t squander the gift.

Charles gives him a lopsided smile, which quickly turns into the indulgent one he favors the children with. "I expect you all will be on your best behavior for Erik," he tells them, tone expectant.

"Yes, Dad," the twins chorus. Lorna adds a happy, "Da!" which Erik takes to mean the same.

Turning back to Erik, Charles’ smile turns self-deprecating. "Thank you again, Erik. You're a life saver."

Erik shrugs, uncomfortable with the praise. It isn't as if he hasn't been hoping to see this strange group of people who are and are not his. "It's really no trouble."

With nothing more than a quick kiss for each child, Charles takes a bag from Pietro and wheels out.

The door shuts behind Charles with a finality that makes Erik itch, and the apartment falls into awkward silence. He casts about for something to say or do but comes up empty. He has just about convinced himself to turn around and demand Charles reschedule whatever he's supposed to be doing when Pietro frowns and points at Erik's shoulder.

"What's with the bag? You know we won't all fit in there, right?"

"I- what?" Erik shakes his head, clearing away his surprise and reorienting. "Of course you won't. It's work. You seemed interested in it when we met, so I thought you might like to see more of what I do."

The twins glance at each other, staring thoughtfully at each other as if they had their father's gift of telepathy before looking back at Erik and nodding.

Relieved, Erik slides the bag off his shoulder and says, "If one of you gets Lorna, I'll get set up."

Wanda reaches for the little pile of blankets and green hair as Pietro walks Erik to the kitchen. The table is a mess, which throws a wrench in Erik's plans, only for something to spin past Erik in a rush of wind and carry the clutter away.

At Erik's curious look, Pietro shrugs. "Dad's kind of a mess. He doesn’t mind if we move stuff."

Fair enough.

Unpacking takes time. The materials are expensive, and Erik was so confused about Charles calling that he had nearly forgotten to bring the designs, which he wound up shoving roughly into his bag. Uncrumpling the papers gives Lorna something to do, which she sets herself to with admirable concentration. Concentration her brother doesn't share, as Pietro snatches every piece as it emerges and discards it a fraction of a second later, interest satisfied. Wanda seems content to study Erik's sketches, occasionally letting out a soft, "Oh!" Erik takes to mean she likes something.

Pietro is the first to ask a question. "So can you, like, make stuff with your mind? Or d'you have to sit there and make stuff with tiny hammers or whatever?"

"The first," Erik replies as he frees a final box with strips of scrap silver. "If you pick a simple shape and a metal, I'll make something for you now if you want."

Wanda beats her brother with a hasty, "Gold square!" She turns red the moment she's done, collapsing into herself slightly and making a face Erik recognizes as one of Charles’ that indicates an impending apology.

It isn't difficult to distract her from it. With a wave of his hand, Erik summons up a flake of gold. He can feel the children's eyes fixed on him as he shapes the metal into a hollow square then floats it over to Wanda. She takes it and the matching chain Erik quickly spins with careful hands, as if they were made of something far more delicate than gold, and Erik's heart stutters in his chest.

None of this is cheap, and if he isn't careful this could tip the shop into the danger zone again. Erik just can't help wanting to give them something of his. He knows they aren't his kids. Charles and his wife didn't want _Erik's_ sperm; they wanted it from donor number Who Gives A Toss. It wasn't Erik they were so impressed with that they came back for a second go. It was his profile. The kids are Charles' in all the ways that matter.

That doesn’t negate the fact that Erik's blood flows in their veins. The surgical steel star of David hanging around her neck that Lorna enjoys mouthing at so much is hers at least in part because of Erik. He doesn't intend to buy their affections; even if it were possible to begin with, they adore Charles more than any trinket Erik might give them. That's fine. He just needs for them to have more from him than a donor identification number.

From the way Pietro brightens and asks for a pentagon made of silver, which makes Erik suspicious even as he hands the pendant over, he won't have much trouble with that. With the boy's help sketching shapes and Wanda dragging boxes over so her sister can see the metal up close, Lorna manages to point out a triangle and silver, which Wanda fastens snugly around her sister's wrist.

"Are these what you're doing now?" Wanda asks after she finishes helping her sister, pointing at the sketches Lorna has finished flattening.

Erik nods.

"How come you have to sketch it? Can't you just shape it like you did with ours?"

"I could, but I most of these are custom works. People change their minds frequently. Rather than weaken the metal by bending it if I don’t have to, drawing the piece lets them see what they're getting and make any big changes right away."

Wanda, who had been admiring her sister's bracelet, pokes her head up. "Is it okay that we're seeing these?"

"They don't have anyone's name or identification," Erik assures her. "No one asked that I keep any of them secret, so as long as you don't put them on the internet, it should be fine."

"What if it isn't?" she presses.

It takes Erik a moment to parse the cause of her distress. "At worst, I lose a client and the work I did is wasted. My reputation will suffer, which is the most problematic." He pauses, remembering the mess with Schmidt and how close he and Azazel had come to having their names ruined. "But I won't go to prison, and reputations can mend."

That seems to sooth her, and soon enough Erik finds himself sketching out the changes to a ring one of his most loyal but fussiest clients asked for. Around him, the children have settled into their own thoughts. The girls are drawing in one of Erik’s spare pads, and Pietro has some handheld game which Erik has surreptitiously been studying. The boy always seems to have too much energy, constantly talking or bouncing his legs, but whatever is on the screen has him transfixed.

If they'd had those when Erik was a boy, his parents' lives would have been so much easier. The electrical pinging inside the case is almost hypnotic; even the way Pietro mashes rapidly at the buttons doesn't take away from the pleasant sensation of metal vibrating warmly.

"It was Dad's idea."

Erik looks up, startled, from his paper to find Wanda watching him with a strange look.

"He says Pietro's brain works kinda like he has ADHD," she continues, eyes dropping to the page in her hands. "Pietro's brain moves too fast. It doesn’t get stimulated by things like the rest of us do, but things like games keep him busy."

"You know a lot about it, don't you?" Erik observes, impressed. He means it genuinely, and Wanda must see that when she flicks her eyes back up at him.

She nods, suddenly looking far older than her early adolescence, and Erik's heart clenches in his chest. That expression is exactly why he never thought he could have children. He saw it too many times on his own face and the faces of the kids he lived with growing up. As an adult, it hurt too much to imagine creating a little person who would look at him the way he looked at his foster families.

"It was just me and Pietro for a while," Wanda admits. Her voice is so soft, Erik nearly misses it. "Mom was gone, and Dad was- he couldn’t take care of us. Aunt Raven couldn’t take us either, so we had to stay with foster families. They were usually nice enough, but things went easier sometimes if I explained he wasn't being bad on purpose."

Erik tries and fails to imagine what could keep Charles from the children. He dotes on the twins, and they dote on him in return. It isn't the forced affection Erik remembers from some of his foster homes- and that must be what she's referencing. The Xaviers genuinely care for each other. What could have kept Charles from them?

As for their mother... The house has no pictures of her, whoever she is, and this is the first time anyone has directly mentioned the woman who must have been involved at some stage. Curious as he is, Erik has kept to the stranger rule: he is an outsider, and it isn't his place to ask for details.

Still, he can’t help but want to answer her in kind, so Erik confides, "My sister and I were like that. Ruthie was the quietest person I've ever known, and some people didn’t get that. Our case worker tried to keep us together, so I spent a lot of time telling adults not to worry about her. She was quiet. That was just how she was."

Wanda's expression pulls tighter for a moment before lifting. "You have a sister?"

Erik hesitates. Ruth is a risky subject. Not so much for him- it's been long enough that he won't suffer overmuch- but for the kids. They don’t need to bear his burdens. "She was born four years after me," he says after a moment. "Not a mutant, unless knowing where our father hid the treats counts. I haven't seen her in a long time, but I think about her often. More often than she would guess."

For a moment, he sees the return of that thousand-yard stare and worries he made a mistake. Then it clears, and Wanda asks if his sister could draw as well as Erik.

He chuckles. "No, she was much better. Last I saw, Ruthie was illustrating children’s books. Our mother was a painter, too, and the two used to sit around painting my father and me. Not always nice ones, mind you."

"So you're like your mom."

"I wish!” He shakes his head but lets her catch his rueful smile. “I can draw jewelry because I spent a long time practicing. The women in my family were born with brushes in their hands."

"I can't draw anything well," Wanda sighs.

"Practice is the only thing that will change that," Erik tells her, remembering his own struggles. "You're welcome to look through the books I learned from. If you'd like, I could write down the names of a few when I get home and pass them on through Charles. Not that you have to," he adds hastily. "But if you do, now or later, I would be glad to help."

"I'd like that a lot!" She beams at him, and Erik’s throat grows tight at the girl's excitement.

They fall back into silence after that. Erik goes back to his sketches, Pietro remains fixated on the screen in his hands, and the girls play with a bowl of dry Cheerios Wanda grabs when Lorna loses interest in drawing.

It feels a lot like having a family, and Erik has to bite his tongue to remind himself this isn't his. No matter the way he sees his nose on Lorna's face and his temper in Pietro. Wanda's conciliatory attitude could as easily be from growing up with Charles as it could be from Erik's genes. He might become family friend, an honorary uncle of some sort if he doesn’t mess this up. For now, he's a last minute babysitter, and that is better than nothing. Erik can be content with that.

Lorna falls asleep eventually, which wouldn't be as big an event were it not for the fact that it somehow falls to Erik to pick her up and carry her to bed. He would just use the metal feet and scoot her there, making use of the space left open in deference to Charles' chair, but something in the twins' eyes stops him. Instead, after a pointed comment from Pietro, he walks around the table, studies the little girl for a long moment as if she might reveal how best to lift her without waking her, before giving up and simply slipping his hands around her.

She looks small, Erik thinks a little hysterically, but she's heavy. Easing her into a grip like the one he would use to carry a dog, he sets off for the bedroom Wanda indicated when she told him he was on toddler duty.

The room is a cheerful shade of blue with inoffensive cartoon animals gathered in reassuringly happy clusters around the walls. Above the bed hangs a metal mobile. For the hundredth time this evening, Erik's heart stutters. Most of the figures on the mobile are scientific: an atom, a planet, the double helix of DNA, that sort of thing, but among them, slightly clunkier and a little crooked, is a figure made of interlocking triangles. He can't be sure of it, but Erik feels certain Charles is responsible for the addition. Erik can't identify the exact alloy, though he can tell it's different from the other figures, but it's something thin and light, the edges blunted against the chance of it falling off.

Swallowing back a rush of emotion, Erik sets Lorna down beneath the Star of David and tucks her blanket around her.

 _You aren't mine,_ he thinks. _But in another life, where you were, I would have been proud to have you._

Back in the kitchen, Pietro has flipped himself upside down. Just looking at him makes Erik's head hurt, so he's glad when a flash of pink draws his attention back to the table. Wanda blushes but doesn't elaborate on her hasty retreat from the pile of sketches.

She doesn't need to. Erik isn't a fool. One page in particular, a headpiece Erik is designing for a sweet sixteen, has been drawing her attention from the moment she unearthed it. Gaudy as it is with all the stones the finished work will have encrusted in it, he can't blame her for being interested. This is the most feminine thing he has made to date. Elegant lines and sweeping curves will frame the girl's face, ideally giving her the maturity she's supposed to have grown into while maintaining the hammy, girlish personality the mother loves so much about her daughter. The woman has a good eye for detail under the embellishments, and even with the eyesores, Erik is proud of how the piece is coming along.

"Five o'clock," Pietro announces as Erik reclaims his chair.

It was half past three when Erik arrived.

Wanda materializes at his side with a folder in one hand and a hopeful look on her face.

Fearing that concern over Charles' well-being might translate as anger to the children, Erik waves the menus over and sets the twins to picking a place and getting their orders and Lorna's ready. By the time they manage that and convince Erik to find something kosher he can eat, it’s almost half past and the takeout is going to be another half hour.

Five minutes later, Erik's phone chirps with a text from Charles.

_So sorry! I should be back before six._

Erik worries over his response for a long moment before he remembers he isn't a teenager and Charles isn't his crush. Erik is just doing an acquaintance a favor by babysitting. He can just reply the way he would if this were Irene thanking him for watching Anna Marie.

Passing their father's ETA on, Erik takes requests for messages back.

_It's fine. Stop apologizing. The children ordered Chinese and want you to know they say "hi". Food should be here by the time you arrive._

Charles sends back a reply in the form of a string of emojis. Erik skips decoding it entirely, figuring from the number of smiles that it’s good, and gets comfortable in the big armchair in the living room, only half listening to the children arguing over what to watch. Whatever they settle on involves a series of brightly colored cartoon girls twirling and the word love getting shouted angrily.

When the doorbell rings, Erik hops to his feet before either child can attempt to beat him to it.

He's going to have nightmares from that show. He just knows it.

Outside, the delivery boy throws him a hopeful look Erik both sees through and decides to indulge. He doesn't even realize he paid out of his wallet instead of the folder until everyone is eating and Pietro has whisked the folder away. It doesn't matter to Erik, but he gets the feeling Charles might object. For someone who is generally so affable, Charles' feathers ruffle easily when it comes to his confusing sense of how things should be.

There’s nothing to do about it now. Erik will just have to find a way to make it up to him later.

At some point after the meal when everyone is overfull and crashing, Lorna crawls up onto his lap. Erik panics, realizes he's suddenly too tired to bother panicking, and falls asleep instead.

He wakes to Charles' voice speaking lowly not far away.

Struggling toward wakefulness, Erik mumbles, "Charles?"

"Hello, Erik. I didn't mean to wake you."

"'S fine,” Erik says, sitting up and carefully easing Lorna off him. “I was just resting m' eyes."

Charles chuckles. "I'm sure you were."

After that, things blur. Erik is tired, Charles looks exhausted, and the children shuffle off to bed with only light prodding. By the time Erik has his bag over his shoulder, Charles looks dead on his feet. On his ass? In his chair?

"I feel I ought to be offended by that," Charles sighs, "but I'm too knackered to work out how."

Erik nods. He wants to ask about Charles' mysterious appointment and why it left him so drained. He bites his tongue until the impulse passes. He and Charles are friendly, but they aren't friends, no matter how much Erik would like them to be. His exchanges with the man have always been cordial, and when he isn’t half-asleep, Charles is an interesting conversationalist.

"You'll be all right?" Erik asks instead.

Charles gives him a strange look but nods. "I just need a good night's sleep. But thank you for asking."

"Of course." This is Erik's cue to leave. He should take it. He doesn't want to, though. He wants- He wants what he always wants. Things he can't have. People he can't have. "I'll see you next month for that lunch then."

"Right. Yes. Yes, of course you will."

Suddenly feeling unaccountably awkward, Erik gives Charles a nod and makes a hasty retreat.

He is most of the way home when his phone buzzes.

**_Wanda told me you didn't pay out of the folder._ **

Erik's heart does a painful one-two of stopping and racing. **_Would you believe me if I said I forgot about it?_**

 ** _Yes._** A moment later: **_You have to let me make it up to you, though._**

Erik takes a deep breath. _Don't read into it,_ he reminds himself. _He's just being nice._

 ** _You don't have to do that,_** he sends back.

**_But I'd like to. Can you do lunch Tuesday? One o'clock-ish?_ **

He can, provided there aren't any surprise pushy customers, which gets a confusing, _Excellent! See you then -X_ , from Charles. Erik has never known anyone so good at putting him off balance, and he can't even be angry, because Charles never seems to do it on purpose.

When he gets home, he collapses on his bed and falls immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"Looking good, Lehnsherr."

Erik looks up at his partner and fights the urge to throw his pencil at him. "Of course I do. I'm a professional, Az. One of us ought to be."

The Russian waves him off. "You’ve been weird all week."

"No, I haven't."

"You let that soccer mom flirt with you for ten minutes yesterday."

"Happy customers bring in more money," Erik reminds him.

"Who is it?"

"There is no 'who'."

Azazel makes a face. Erik doesn't like it.

"This has something to do with that website, doesn't it?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"The sperm one."

Erik regards his partner flatly. "You and I both know you grew up in Hoboken. You know the word 'donor.'"

"Eh.” Azazel waves him off. “Close enough. The point is: you got a match, didn't you?"

When it comes down to it, Azazel is the closest thing to family Erik has left. They aged out of foster care within months of each other, and both were staying at the same home before then. Azazel was the one who suggested Erik get at the rich through their wallets rather than melting their gates, and Erik was at Azazel’s side when his friend finally lost it after a nasty baseline made yet another unimaginative Satan comment. Sitting in the back of a patrol car, hands zip-tied behind their backs, Azazel was the one who laughed through a split lip and hiccupped, "You’re a reckless pain in the ass, but lifting that guy by his pants was a good one!"

If anyone can trusted with the truth- if there is anyone Erik wants to tell- it's Azazel.

"Three."

"Pardon?"

"Three. I have- There are three children."

Azazel's expression immediately softens, and Erik finds his eyes welling up. This is the man Erik got blind drunk to come out to when he was twenty-two, who walked Erik to a temple and didn't let him leave until the rebbe came to collect him, who pulled him into a hug with a vicious noogie and cracked open the most expensive bottle of vodka they could afford to celebrate when Erik emerged, vindicated and welcomed. It was Azazel who bailed Erik out on his thirtieth birthday when he got in a bar fight he doesn't remember starting and petted Erik's head and let him cry into his shoulder on the way home from the ER about the family he was never going to have.

"You've met them, haven’t you?"

Erik can't help but smile. "I have. They're good kids, Az. They're real good."

Azazel makes a rude noise. "Of course they are. They're yours."

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik doesn't know how he finds out, but somehow, Azazel knows to show up at his apartment when Erik takes Tuesday off.

"No, no," he says, pointing at Erik's shirt. "Blue. Blue means you're trustworthy. Go with blue."

"I'm not a politician. I don't need a focus group."

"Thank God to the first, and yes, you do to the second."

By the time he leaves, Erik's business casual has turned into a suit and tie, and Azazel is in a snit about ruffled hair. He tells Erik not to screw up on his way out.

Charles is waiting outside the pre-chosen deli when Erik arrives. He looks worried as Erik crosses the last street, but when he catches sight of Erik, he perks up.

"You look extra sharp," he offers with a crooked smile. "I'm sorry to show up in my 'old fart suit' as my sister calls it."

Erik frowns. That explains the mental pang he felt and faltering smile. Charles has no reason to be self-conscious. He looks fine. Better than fine. His cardigan is thicker than fashionable, but Erik has noticed the man complains about getting cold faster than usual. He hardly looks old, though. Soft, maybe, in an inviting way that makes it hard to keep from reaching out and touching him.

Clearing his throat, Erik shakes his head. "I realize this was supposed to be a casual meal. My partner likes to fuss, and fighting with him is pointless."

"Partner?" Charles raises his brows.

"Work partner," Erik hurries to clarify. Not that it matters. "Azazel and I go way back, so he likes to think he's allowed to mettle."

"I see." To Erik's confusion, Charles brightens. "I didn't think there was anyone who could push you around."

Shaking his head, Erik gestures Charles ahead. "Only because he has embarrassing photos," he admits. "He knows I have proof he cried watching _Avatar,_ so he usually keeps it to a minimum."

Charles chuckles, the sound warming Erik as they make their way inside.

It's the same place where Erik first met the twins. Not Lorna, who had been left with a babysitter. Erik was more relieved that the children were being raised by someone cautious than he was offended at the precaution. Charles had hovered just on the eye of Erik's awareness that day. A just-visible guardian of the little humans looking wonderingly at Erik, he was as much a judge of Erik's merit as the twins. Erik still hasn't worked out when or why Charles deemed Erik acceptable. He doesn't have it in him to ask.

It takes some work to get Charles settled at a table. The space is more crowded than Erik had remembered, the spaces between tables narrower. At one point, he suggests they might have better luck somewhere else.

Eyes flashing, Charles tells him no. They came here, so they will eat here.

Instinct tells Erik not to press, so he lets the matter drop.

Once they finally get arranged comfortably around the table the server comes over. A pretty girl maybe in her twenties, she chirps an enthusiastic hello before taking their orders and flouncing off.

Thrown by the unusual severity in Charles, Erik frowns. He wonders if this is going to be when Charles tells him to back off. Lorna, Wanda, and Pietro are Charles' children. It was fun to indulge them for a while, but Erik should not get used to seeing them.

Charles coughs, redirecting Erik's attention. "I should apologize."

_Here it comes._

"You're lovely, and I'm being a wanker." Charles must sense his confusion, because he continues, "I don't mean to be short with you. It's just... frustrating sometimes. Being stuck in this thing."

Erik can only imagine.

"I'm guessing you don't know how it came to be."

"You don't have to tell me-"

"Damn right I don't." Charles softens. "But I think I should. If you're going to be part of the children's lives, which I believe you will, there are things you ought to know." His lips quirk, and Erik is reminded of a mask that presents pain as humor. "I should come clean. I've been meaning to do this for a while. The takeout was just a convenient cover to get you here without arousing the children’s suspicion."

Erik shakes his head. This is too different from everything he had been preparing for. "Where are you going with this?"

"You like the children. The children like you. I get the feeling you... wish you'd had your own to raise."

"I know they aren’t mine. If you’re worried about that-"

"I’m not. Rather the opposite. I have to make another imposition. You barely know me, so I hate to ask, but I’m afraid I don’t have anyone else to ask..."

Charles could ask him just about anything, and Erik would have trouble saying no. "What is it?"

"I lost my legs to an IED in Afghanistan. I came back to the children as soon as I could, and my P.T. suffered for it. I’m back going again now, but the problem is, I can't bring the children to appointments with me. Unfortunately, their mother is not an option, and my usual sitter is going away to university.” He shifts in his chair, visibly uncomfortable. “This is where I have to ask the favor. Would you be willing to watch the children for me? It would be just a few times a month."

Erik freezes. Charles wants him to babysit the children? He isn't telling Erik to back off?

Why isn't he telling Erik to back off?

"You intrigue them." Charles smiles sadly at him, forcing Erik to wonder if the telepath overheard his skepticism. "Truly, Erik. And not just because you’re their donor father. You make jewelry for a living. That's an uncommon career, and rather a pretty one. Wanda has been drawing nonstop since you came, and Pietro has taken an interest in geology. You can say no, of course. I don’t mean to pressure you. But if you could, it would be wonderful."

And that is how Erik found himself agreeing to watch his three not-children.

He gets to know Wanda's imperious side and Pietro's carelessness. He witnesses Lorna's temper tantrums. All three disobey him at times, and more than once, Charles comes home to a divided household. He never gets angry with Erik about it. Despite the exhaustion lying thick over his pale face, he smiles at Erik as if he's done something wonderful.

It goes on like that for months until Erik gets a call in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon requesting a personal consult on a time-sensitive project as soon as possible. With nothing better to do, Erik ends up accepting the job.

Oddly, when he examines the address, he recognizes it as Charles'. His calls go to a nameless voicemail, so he is left with nothing to do but go to Charles'.

"Are you Erik Lehnsherr?" a female voice he doesn't recognize asks when he knocks.

Erik nods.

The woman says something else too low for him to catch. Another, younger voice replies. Again too low to make out what’s being said, but Erik knows the source. Wanda sounds fine, if not happy, and the knot twisting in Erik’s chest loosens.

"You can come in."

The door swings open a moment later, and Erik steps through the doorway into another universe.

Here, none of the children races to his side. None of them clamors to get his attention first. They merely sit demurely on the sofa, hands folded and eyes downcast. Even little Lorna who was on a singing kick is quiet.

Between them and Erik stands this world's Charles. Dressed neatly in office dress, her fitted blouse tucked into a skirt that hits precisely the bottom of her knees, Erik can't help but be reminded of his own appearance. It was a slow day, so he deliberately went with a more casual turtleneck and slacks. Next to her immaculately pressed clothes and shiny high heels, he can't help but feel like he’s failed some sort of test.

"So," the woman drawls, "you're the mysterious Erik Lehnsherr."

Erik nods, unable to decide if this is a power play he needs to win and if it isn't, if he can make himself lose.

The woman holds out her hand, and Erik takes it.

"I'm Gabrielle Haller. I believe you know my husband."

 

xx

 

 _So this is their mother,_ Erik thinks. _They look like her._

Pietro and Lorna have mutations that affect their hair color, which makes comparison to Gabrielle's dark, straight locks impossible, but Wanda's brown curls are the spitting image of Erik's sister's hair. They all got Erik's strong nose and the blunt Eisenhardt chin from him, too. But their eyes are their mother's. Shape and color- except Pietro, who has Erik's hooded lids.

Gabrielle is shorter than Erik, but women tend to be. For all he knows, she is tall for her sex. None of the children seems excessively tall or short, so he couldn't say who they got that from.

He knows this is ridiculous. He isn't a proxy for Charles. He has no reason to want to square off against this woman. Yet he can't help wanting to do exactly that.

"Hello, children," Erik says, quirking his easiest smile at them. He has a feeling it doesn't come across as confident as he would like, but the three relax slightly. Turning back to Gabrielle, whose expression has turned darker, he suggests, "Why don't we talk in the kitchen?"

To his surprise, she nods quickly, and with a reminder to the children not to make a mess while they’re unsupervised, Gabrielle turns and strides toward the kitchen. With their mother no longer looking, the children are freed from their studied good posture. Lorna immediately reaches for Erik, her eyes wide. "Erik!" she chirps happily. He returns her enthusiastic, over-the-couch hug before echoing a softer version of Gabrielle's admonishment to behave.

When he walks in, the kitchen is already set up for them. Erik raises his brows at the dual teacup and plate setup.

"Charles always said important discussions should be had over tea," Gabrielle explains. A blush tints her cheeks, and Erik is suddenly standing in yet another world. In this one, Gabrielle is a shy but welcoming hostess. "Tea makes us civilised or something, apparently." She flashes him an embarrassed smile. "It's all a bit much for me, to be honest."

"I don’t understand." Erik frowns but takes a seat when waved to. "What’s going on?"

Her blush deepens. "I'm so sorry about all that. Charles left me your number in case of an emergency, which I know this isn't, but- He said the kids love you, and I need help."

"You called me here because you couldn't get them to like you?" Erik asks, voice rising. "You do realize I work, right?"

"I know, and I really am sorry! This was a stupid idea.” She gives him a helpless look. “It's just- Charles couldn't stop singing your praises. How good you are with them, how much they look forward to seeing you… I didn't they would take to another adult, but he said they adore you. And I- I don't know how to make them not hate me."

"Why would they hate you?" That was the last feeling he had gotten from the children.

Gabrielle shrinks in her seat. "I'm the reason things are like this," she admits. "After I had Lorna, I just couldn't cope. I know it was PPD now, and I got help. Things are better now. But I was gone a long time. With Charles in recovery, the kids needed me. And I wasn't there."

Erik is out of his depth, far out of it. All he can do is fall back on what little he remembers of his parents' tactics when he or Ruth was in a strop.

Glancing at the clock, he asks, "How do you feel about soup?"

 

**_xx_ **

 

The children remain cautious of Gabrielle, but between shopping for ingredients and making dinner, Erik warms to her. She loves her children, but she doesn’t know how to show them in a way they will understand she isn’t trying to wave away what happened. Erik can appreciate that.

He can't help but like her. It's no difficult task to see what Charles saw in her. She has a keen sense of humor, one nearly as dry as Erik's, and a good respect for the children's reticence around her. She wants them to be happy regardless of whether they accept her back.

And, crucially, she doesn't badmouth Charles.

"He's a good man," she tells him as they pack the pot with vegetables. "And a good father. He just couldn't be there for me. It wasn't his fault. I don't blame him. The military and the human body are two things that can’t be rushed."

Erik hums his agreement, and with the pot simmering, they return to the living room and the children. Things have started to thaw between Gabrielle and Pietro, and with Pietro warming to her, Wanda is slowly following suit. Erik only has to intervene a few times in the conversation they strike up.

With his belly full and the current subject of conversation something Erik can’t follow, slouching in his seat and letting his mind wander only seems natural.

By the time Charles gets in, Erik is fast asleep.

"Wakey wakey," Charles murmurs, shaking Erik's leg.

Erik tries to turn over, but the shaking continues.

"Go 'way."

"Can't do that, my friend. You won’t thank me if I let you spend the night like this."

Erik sighs. He was having such a nice dream. Sitting up, he rubs at his eyes and tries to make his muzzy brain work.

"I'd help with that, but you wouldn't be able to go back to sleep again later."

"Damn," Erik sighs. "When did you get home?"

"Just now," Charles answers tiredly. "Don't worry. As much I wanted to let you sleep, Gabby told me I should wake you sooner than later."

Gabby. Right. "I met your ex."

Charles smiles. "You did. She's grateful to you for helping, as am I." The smile falters. "I do hope you'll tell us if we overstep. You have your own life, and I don't want to bother you."

"I told you before it's really no bother."

"Erik, really…”

"I mean it. I'm thirty-eight. I'm single and have no children of my own. Helping you is as close as I'm going to get."

Too far. Way too far. Back pedal. Get out of this. Get out now.

Charles leans in, and something large and undefined brushes against Erik's mind. A moment later, Charles places his hand on Erik's.

"You're a good man, Erik Lehnsherr," he says earnestly. "We don't deserve you."

It's the opposite, Erik knows. He doesn't deserve this.

 

**_xx_ **

 

The mother picks up the finished headpiece and, after a long moment, nods and tells him it will do. Given how long it took and all the minor revisions he had to do, Erik is glad to be done with it. He did enjoy the challenge of building a unique piece in the early stages, though, and some of the rejected sketches gave him ideas for something Wanda might like. He won't actually be making any of them, of course. But he's having fun pretending.

Azazel catches him sketching it out one morning and rolls his eyes.

"You're going to make an ass of yourself," he calls over his shoulder as he heads through the workroom toward the door and the person who just rang the doorbell.

"Shove off," Erik grouches.

"No thank you," comes the nonchalant reply. "Good morning, Ma'am. Please, come in."

Erik stops paying attention after that. Azazel enjoys playing the helpful employee for reasons that escape Erik. No one as naturally unwelcoming as Azazel should like working in customer service. Listening only confuses Erik more.

He has the start of a new rendition of a ring on the way when someone coughs. Scowling, Erik glances up at his friend and finds him beaming down with a shit-eating grin.

_Shit._

"What do you want?"

"There's a pretty lady out here to see you," Azazel explains. "She seems very nervous. You shouldn't make her wait."

Alarm bells are going off, but Erik can't risk upsetting a potential client because he has poor taste in friends.

When he pokes his head through the doorway, it isn't a stranger waiting but Gabby.

"Is everything all right?" he asks, heart pounding as he makes his way to her side.

Gabby blinks, thrown, then smiles. "Yes, Erik. We're all fine. I'm here to ask after you in a professional manner, actually." Relieved, Erik relaxes and motions for her to continue. "I've got this ring, you see. It's really old and it's got this complex detailing, and none of the jewelers I've spoken to felt comfortable repairing it. I thought maybe you could handle it."

She reaches into her purse and produces a box, which Erik takes from her. He sees what she means immediately. "It looks like someone took a baseball bat to it."

"Or punched a wall with it on?"

Brows inching up, Erik nods. "Impressive."

"It was my wedding ring."

Erik pauses in his investigation of the damage. "The one Charles gave you?"

She nods. "Just before we split, he and I had a massive fight, and afterwards, I wound up hitting a wall. I felt horrible as soon as I saw- it's a family heirloom. I tried to keep it from him, but he found out in the end. He didn't even yell at me when I refused to give it back. He was so tired, I don't think it occurred to him I just didn’t want to return it like this. I couldn't. It felt too symbolic." She adjusts her purse's strap, and for a moment, Erik is transfixed by the flash of metal. "It would mean a lot if I could give it back to him the way it was."

"I can do it," Erik promises. Finally, something he can do for Charles. Come to think of it... "Are you still having trouble with Wanda?" Gabby nods miserably, and Erik perks up. "Wait right here," he orders, then dashes back to the workshop. When he comes back, he has his folder of designs ready.

"When I met her, Wanda was interested in something I was making for a client. If you got her something like one of these for her birthday, she might open up."

"You want me to buy her off?"

"No, I want you to buy her interest. Show her you want to know what she likes and how to make her happy. Give her something to associate you with that's good."

He's excited and panting from sprinting around, and he can see the moment she sees the wisdom in his plan.

Gabby bites her lip. "Any idea how much it will cost?"

"You want me to do it?"

She rolls her eyes. "Duh. Wanda adores you. If I gave her something this extravagant, she would hate it if anyone else made it. So: how much."

"Not a clue. But if you agree to consult in my off-hours, I'll do that for free. Once we figure out the design, I’ll be able to calculate a ballpark price."

The moment Gabby walks out, Azazel appears.

"A fine lady," he observes.

"Please don't fuck this up for me."

Azazel groans but throws an arm around Erik's shoulders. "Bros before hoes," he agrees sagely.

"You're thirty-three," Erik complains. "Why do you still say that?"

 

**_xx_ **

 

It quickly becomes clear that involving Wanda will have to be part of the process. Neither Erik nor Gabby knows her well enough to risk making something like this for her without help, and getting her head measurements would be a pain to do without giving up the plot.

Erik doesn't know what Gabby said, but when he turns up at Charles' apartment at nine, she and Wanda are set up with his sketches and a few sketchbooks that aren't his and talking almost amiably in the living room.

"Dad's asleep," Wanda explains when Erik asks after him. "He was too tired to stay up, but he said to tell you he says hi."

"Tell him back for me when he wakes up, will you?" Erik asks, and Wanda nods. "All right. So, what are we thinking?"

The next hour sees Erik refining a drawing Wanda did herself and working with Gabby, whose taste runs more sophisticated than Wanda’s has matured into yet, on a simple headpiece with the sort of scroll work and engraving that reminds him of the ring.

"I'm working on your project," he promises Gabby after Wanda has headed off to bed. "I'm making a copy, but I have to make sure the metal composition the same just to be safe."

She gives him a smile and tells him to relax. If he didn't know it used to be Charles' ring, that might have been possible. As it is, he won't be sleeping well until he's finished the job.

 

**_xx_ **

 

"Got an angry Russian lady on the phone for you," Azazel announces a month later. “Speaks it with a Southern accent, nearly Ukranian. Calls herself Natasha. You know her?”

Azazel’s skepticism of his mother country’s people is one of his quirks Erik has never decoded and suspects he’ll be happier for that to remain the case. Nodding to show he does know the person on the other end, Erik accepts the receiver. "Romanova, I've been expecting your call."

"You finished the job?"

"I did."

"How soon can you get it here?"

"You want it today?"

"Ideally."

Glancing at the clock, Erik curses. "An hour? Maybe two. Depends on traffic."

"I can give you one and a half."

The phone clicks off, and Erik is left feeling once more that he likes Romanova. No equivocating, no wasting time. Just business.

"Az, you're in charge while I'm gone," Erik calls as he dashes into the back to grab the large rectangular box his friend has been tripping over for nearly two weeks.

"I'm always in charge!" Azazel yells after him, but Erik is already dashing toward his car.

 

**_xx_ **

 

When he first met Steve Rogers, Erik was fixing a woman's broken necklace. It was a quick thing, something he did mostly because she had been crying about it being a gift from her mother, and Erik has always had a soft spot for Mama's children. It was after Erik finished and returned the necklace that a man calling himself Captain Rogers approached him. He praised Erik's mutation, said he would be a good jeweler. When Erik said he was one already, Rogers smiled wide and asked if Erik liked challenges.

As it happens, Erik does like a good challenge, and he told Rogers so.

Somehow that became Erik getting led through a VA clinic where everyone seemed to know his unsought tour guide.

It was in the gym portion of the facility that Erik met the ray of sunshine Rogers called Bucky.

Erik took an instant liking to the man. The man was quiet, but he had a look like he was always watching what was happening around him. He opened up when Rogers arrived and showed a spark of personality when the third member of their group- a man who introduced himself as Sam, Not a Soldier- made a sly comment, but fell quiet when Erik got to work taking measurements. He only relaxed when he told Erik to shove his measuring tape up his ass and Erik laughed.

Sam is pacing outside the building when Erik pulls up and hops out. "Let's get going," the man urges, energy practically sparking around him. "We're short on time- Fury kept us until Steve promised to stop twitching about spilling the beans."

If there's one thing Erik has learned about Fury, it's that the man gives too much of a damn about the service members he has under his care.

"They're in the weights area," Sam explains as they hurry through the halls. When they reach the gym, he pats Erik on the back, hard. "Ready?"

“Let’s get this over with.”

They find Steve standing with Bucky by one of the benches. For all Erik is disconcerted by the All-American, he can admit Steve is a decent guy. Better than that, he's Bucky's best friend. He's the perfect leverage for good behavior.

"Hey, asshole," Bucky grouches when Erik joins them. "What's in the box?"

"Mittens, my pet kitty cat," Erik drawls, to which Sam snorts. Steve gives his friend a sharp look, but Sam only shrugs at him. Erik huffs and ignores them. "What do you think is in here?"

Bucky narrows his eyes. "Better be my new arm."

"Be polite or I'll step on Steve's foot."

"Do it. See how fast I kick your ass with only one arm."

Erik chuckles and hands over the box.

"Nice bow," Steve observes, noting the big pink monstrosity Azazel put on when he realized the box wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

"Thank you, Private. It took me a while to get it just right."

Bucky promptly rips the bow apart. Erik rolls his eyes at the man's belligerent expression and knows from the quirk of his lips that Bucky is having just as much fun with this as Erik is. Steve tries to scold him, but Bucky shrugs him off in favor of flipping the lid on the box.

The smile disappears, and the only sound is Sam's reverent, "Holy shit."

"You ready for your new arm, Bucky?" Erik asks.

Retorts gone in the face of Erik's magnum opus, Bucky only nods.

Getting the limb attached isn't as difficult as Erik had feared. The guy who helped him with the interface knew what he was talking about even if he was a pain in the ass and his partner who designed the interface had the uncomfortable, deliberate serenity of a person with a nasty temper. Erik takes a second to appreciate their work as he smooths the socket into place and the metal already carefully installed in the remains of Bucky's shoulder fits together flawlessly with the limb.

"Try it out," Erik urges, to which Bucky clumsily snaps, "I'll try it out on your face if you keep patronizing me."

"I spent forever on this thing, all right? I'm putting my name on it. I want to be sure it works."

Bucky takes a few clumsy swings at the empty air, stretches his new metal fingers. Makes a fist. Rolls his shoulder.

"It feels weird."

"Bad weird?" Erik asks just as Steve does. Sam frowns and cranes his neck to get a better look.

Bucky shakes his head, looking lost. "Not bad, no. Just... weird. Like getting your arm back, but it's not your arm."

"It's 'like' that, is it?"

Lost look evaporating, Bucky levels a glare at him. "Seriously, Lehnsherr, I don’t care how pretty you made this look. I will still shove this so far up your ass-"

Erik grins. "Kinky."

Bucky is making a face that suggests he might take a swing at Erik for that when Steve, who had been covering his face with his palm suddenly calls out, "Charles! Looking good, brother!"

_It can't be._

Twisting around, Erik is confronted with the unmistakable face of Charles Xavier. Unlike the one Erik knows, this Charles isn't wearing a cardigan and doesn't have a wheelchair. This one has shorts and a sweat-soaked tee, and he's walking unsteadily on legs of metal. Legs that Erik, who is surrounded by vets with all manner of prosthetic limbs, had dismissed.

"Erik?" Charles asks, swaying dangerously until the man next to him puts a steadying hand under his elbow. "What are you doing here?"

Before Erik can remember what brought him here, the man supporting Charles lets out a sigh. "Charles, my friend. You do need to stand on your own."

"Sorry, T'Challa," Charles says, his eyes fixed on Erik.

"Wait. You two know each other?"

Erik frowns at Steve but defers to Charles.

 _Do you want me to tell them the truth?_ Charles asks.

_If you're asking if I'm embarrassed, I'm not. But if you want to say something else, fine by me._

Clearing his throat, Charles explains, "Erik was the donor for my children."

"Those angels came out of _you_?" Bucky asks, incredulous. "How?"

"Would you like a demonstration?" Erik throws back, raising a brow.

Steve, Sam, and Bucky recoil, no doubt suspecting Erik could do it if he felt like it.

The man Charles called T'Challa snorts a laugh, and Erik decides he likes him.

"Good to meet you," the man says, holding out the hand opposite Charles.

Erik takes it, easily returning the firm shake. "Erik Lehnsherr."

"I have heard much about you."

Erik wasn't expecting that, but he doesn't get to ask what sorts of things Charles said about him before Romanova herself arrives and the conversation becomes Bucky showing off his arm to the whoops of the rest of the room. He's in the middle of doing a cartwheel when Charles knocks on Erik's mind.

_I have to go change. Wait for me?_

_No problem._

Erik watches T’Challa lead Charles away and wonders, briefly, how he never figured this out.

 

xx

 

By the time Charles returns, Bucky has gritted out his thanks, Sam has given him a high five, and Steve has clapped Erik on the back hard enough to rattle his teeth. Even T'Challa stopped by.

"Charles is a good man," he observed to Erik. "He works hard, never slacks off, and he loves his children."

Erik nodded, thinking T'Challa was just being friendly with his patient’s friend, but that wasn't the end of the conversation.

"You take good care of him."

"Excuse me?"

"As I said earlier, he talks about you." The man’s expression turned wry. "He talks about you a lot. I know only one subject that makes him happier, and he has talked my ear off about his children from the start."

He walked away after that, leaving Erik torn between hope and dread.

"You waited!" Charles says in what might have been excitement if he didn't look so wiped out. His mind feels heavy when it touches Erik's in a friendly, almost drunken pat. "I'm glad. T’Challa has a few more people to see, and while I wouldn't have minded waiting and he doesn't live far away, I hate to impose. That is- I'm sorry. I didn't ask you if you minded..."

"I don't mind at all," Erik assures him. "I had to bring the hybrid, though. If I'd known, I would have grabbed Azazel's keys and taken his truck."

Charles waves him off. "The car is fine, Erik, really. Thank you."

Erik expected Charles to make use of the drive back to talk, but once Charles is situated in the front and Erik has found the exact angle necessary to fit Charles' chair into the back, he returns to the front only to find his friend fast asleep with his head on the window.

_So much for talking._

Pulling into the rare open space by Charles' building presents a new challenge. Charles is asleep. Is Erik supposed to wake him up? Or can he carry him up? Would that be too presumptuous?

Screw it. Erik slips his hands under Charles and, with an easy jerk of his head, levitates the chair free. The three proceed up the stairs together, through the front lobby, and take up an entire giant elevator for themselves. The person behind the desk gives them a strange look on the way through, so Erik glares until she looks away. Charles doesn't so much as stir through it all. Even when Erik has to adjust his grip, Charles merely flops harder against his shoulder.

Pietro greets them at the door.

"Dad?" he asks, visibly surprised. "Erik? What happened to Dad?"

It occurs to Erik that Charles may not have told the children, and, too tired himself to come up with a lie, simply shrugs and says, "Life."

Pietro hesitates, unconvinced, then shrugs. "Fair enough. I'll show you to his room."

Teenage angst does have a use after all.

Charles' room is small, the smallest of the four, and the children have far less stuff. Erik follows the path cleared for the wheelchair and carefully deposits his friend on his bed. As he tucks Charles in, Erik tries not to linger on how small and tired he looks.

When he tries to make his escape, Wanda cuts him off at the door, putting herself bodily between him and the exit. "You shouldn't drive," she says.

"I'm not drunk," Erik says tiredly.

"You look like you are."

She has a point. Erik can feel himself swaying.

"I'll take a quick nap," Erik concedes. "No more than half an hour. All right?"

She accepts his terms, and Erik collapses in relief on the couch.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Charles settles on Erik's lap with the imperiousness of a man who knows something is his. His fluffy looking clothes are gone. In their place are the shirt and shorts from earlier, only instead of being sweat-soaked, they're clean and soft when Erik runs his fingers over them.

"We can change that," Charles says hotly. Leaning up, he presses the plush ass Erik has only just caught his first glimpse of over Erik's dick.

He doesn't know how it happens, but Erik watches in fascination as Charles rubs up on him. He denies Erik kiss after kiss, turning his head just enough to catch them in the corner of his mouth, the tip of his nose, his chin. All the while he chuckles to himself and trails clever fingers over Erik's bare chest.

Erik barely notices that he can't feel Charles' lower legs clamping around him when he finally gets his kiss.

 

xx

 

"Erik!"

That, Erik thinks tiredly, is the voice of a child. He thinks he might even know the small person the voice belongs to, if only he opened his eyes to check.

"Oh, no, small one," says another voice Erik recognizes. "Don't wake him for me yet, huh? He will be pissy enough as it is!"

 _Azazel._ The man's Russian accent gets less convincing every time he tries it.

Dragging himself up, Erik blinks against the sudden sunshine. In the chair beside him is Azazel, who got dressed up in a sharp suit and a smug expression this morning. In the space between Azazel's chair and the wall is Charles. He's back in his chair, and despite the circles under his eyes, he looks more vital than he has in a long while. The cardigan-chinos combination is gone, replaced by a rumpled-looking gray sweat suit. For the first time Erik can recall, Charles' pants are open around nothing. It's odd to see pants without a foot under the hem, but Erik has seen stranger. His attention doesn’t remain on the pants’ hemline long.

"Good morning," Charles says with a half-smile. "Let me guess: Wanda wouldn't let you leave."

"I figured a nap would pacify her. I didn’t mean to fall asleep." Erik smiles ruefully. "How are you?"

Charles flushes, which is odd, but he says he's fine. Any further questions Erik might have asked are derailed by the arrival of Pietro and the cup of coffee he drops on the side table by Erik.

The boy flops down on the spare section Erik recently vacated and announces, "You talk in your sleep."

Recalling the dream, Erik feels his face flush. Azazel quirks a brow at him but mercifully says nothing to encourage the line of conversation. Charles chokes on his drink, and Azazel has to clap him on the back until his breathing evens out.

"Sorry," he pants. For a moment, he looks like he had in the dream: disheveled and appealing, cheeks flushed pink. "You slept all right?"

Erik nods. "Azazel didn't give you too much trouble, did he?"

"Hey!"

Chuckling softly, Charles shakes his head. "Azazel is fine. He's been the perfect guest."

"I don't drool on another man's throw pillows," Azazel confirms.

"Why are you here?" Erik asks, not a little defensive. He's tired, he's wearing yesterday's clothes, and his back hurts. "I'm fine. You can go now."

Azazel only smiles sharply. "I was getting to know your friend. He has terrible taste in suits. No wonder he likes you."

"Oi! You will be civil when you're in my house."

"Sorry, Charles."

Azazel leaves not long after. He claims someone should keep the shop open, but Erik knows as well as he does that this is their slow day and no one will come in until after lunch if they come at all. He doesn't say that, though, sensing from Azazel's firm exit that his friend knows something Erik doesn't.

"Hey, Erik?"

Erik blinks and turns his attention to Charles. "Yeah?"

"Gabby is taking the kids for an early lunch out in a bit. I was wondering, would you- Do you want to have lunch with me? It would have to be here, but we could have sandwiches, or pasta, or we could call for delivery. I know a great place in midtown-"

"Charles."

"Yes?"

"I would love to have lunch with you."

"Really? Fantastic."

Gabby doesn't arrive for another two hours. Somehow the awkward silence that follows Erik agreeing to lunch becomes Erik and Charles sitting on the couch, watching heavy-handed educational cartoons with Lorna while the twins reluctantly do their homework in the kitchen. Lorna falls into a doze on Charles' lap eventually, but Erik is too comfortably numb from the show to bother switching channels.

By the time Gabby arrives, Charles and Erik are half-asleep and slumped against each other.

She gives Erik a little smile as she collects Lorna from a muzzy Charles. Pietro and Wanda come thundering out of their rooms a moment later, eager to get going. Waking Lorna up and getting her dressed wakes Charles up, and seeing him fuss over his brood- smoothing Pietro's hair, cleaning up a messy edge of lip gloss on Wanda's chin, running a washcloth over Lorna's face- makes Erik's chest grow tight.

He really is grateful the children are loved so well.

The four leave in a hail of goodbyes. Erik notices Wanda is holding her mother's hand as they go, and Gabby raises her other hand to give him a quick, nonsensical thumbs-up.

Without the children, the apartment feels too quiet. The cozy drowsiness from before is gone; in its place is tension. Neither he nor Charles mentions it as they settle on a takeout place and wait for the food to arrive.

Erik answers the door while Charles sets the table, and Erik unpacks the bag and divvies up the food. He has a mouthful of wanton when Charles says, "I've been learning to walk again."

"Ha?"

"What you saw yesterday," Charles explains, "that was me practicing." He looks down at his plate. "I hate this chair. I ran track in school and at university. Being dependent on this thing is killing me, and I know- I know others have it worse. But I want to _move,_ and I still can. I don’t want to be treated like an overgrown child!"

He lets out a shuddering sigh. "I know you didn't sign up for this. The truth is, I couldn't bear having friends when I came back. I used to love people, but seeing them so carefree, able to just stand up and go places... I couldn't bear hating them for having legs or hating myself for hating them. By cutting them out, though, I only made myself more miserable.

"Then the children wanted to meet their biological father, and when they did, you turned out to be such a good man, better than I ever would have hoped.”

Erik scratches at his neck, embarrassed. “I’m really not.”

"You are. You gave me the children I always wanted and more reasons to get up in the morning, and you’ve treated me like a human being from that first meeting. And I want to thank you for that."

Erik swallows. This is beyond him. He never set out to do anything other than meet the kids he helped make. And when that went well and Charles proved welcoming, Erik was happy to befriend the man. Help out with the kids when he could. That was all. “I really didn’t do anything.”

"Don't you see?" Charles rasps. "That's why I'm so happy. You didn't try to fix me. You didn't see anything that needed fixing."

"Charles..."

"I'm sorry. T’Challa has me doing these awful stretches that hurt like hell, and I really am tired. I’m talking too much, but I’ve needed to tell someone for so long…” He pauses to take a breath. “I've kept the new prosthetics a secret because I don't know how people will react when they find out. I'll have my freedom again, mostly, but if people are just going to pity me for that, then what's the use? You were surprised, but you didn't think less of me. You just thought-" He cuts himself off, but Erik knows what comes next.

"I thought you looked incredible," he finishes. "I wanted you. I still want you."

Charles blushes. "I haven't felt someone lust after me like that in a long time."

Sensing a problem, Erik cuts it off before it can take root. "The chair doesn't bother me," he blurts. "If you never walked again, I wouldn't mind. But I do worry if things got heavy that I might warp it."

Eyes lighting up, Charles whispers, "You could do that?"

"I could."

"Can I kiss you now?"

"I wish you would."

Charles kisses the opposite way he seems. The fluffy professor kisses hard and deep; he moans loudly when Erik strokes his tongue over Charles' and shudders when Erik rubs his thumb over a nipple.

"Take me to bed?" Charles pants when they part, Erik still close enough to feel Charles' breath on his face.

Erik nods and, after a bit of fumbling that ends in Charles wrapped around his waist, carries his prize to Charles' room, where he plops him on the bed.

"I've got lube if you've got a condom," Charles tells him, and Erik has to take a firm hold of himself through his pants.

"I've got one," he pants, rooting through his pockets for his wallet and the condom inside. He flips it out with triumphantly and quickly strips off, though he gets distracted by the sight of Charles ripping his sweats off.

Clothes removed, Erik hits the bed and quickly climbs up it to claim another searing kiss from Charles.

"I'm going to embarrass myself if you keep this up," Charles warns.

Erik smiles and goes for yet another kiss. "Go ahead."

"Not until I get you in me. So hurry up, would you?"

Prepping Charles is more dangerous than watching him strip down. Erik has to stop more than once to take himself in hand and squeeze to take his mind off the obliging give of Charles' ass around his fingers and the low moans that mean he’s found just the right spot to press.

"I'm not going to last," he says when he finally pushes the head of his cock into Charles. His arms shake as he tries not to collapse as he guides himself deeper. "I can't. I'm not going to-"

"Please just fuck me, would you?"

Erik isn’t about to argue.

Charles makes a lot of noise when Erik gets a rhythm going. Not loud noises, just a lot of them. Over the slap of skin on skin as Charles' fleshy backside bumps into Erik's hips come the heavy pants, the low _fuck_ ’s, the desperate whines. The wet sounds of him jerking his lube-slick cock fill the room.

The best are his encouraging murmurs in Erik's head.

_That's it. Right there._

_Harder, please, fuck-_

_So good, it's so good._

_Erik!_

Charles comes on a mental cry of Erik's name, and the force of it rockets through Charles into Erik, who can only groan and lose it in the condom as he buries himself to the hilt in Charles' ass.

He can't help but collapse, weak with pleasure and relief. Charles puts his arms around him and pulls Erik in close where he can kiss the crown of his head.

"That was..."

"Perfect?" Charles guesses. "Because it was for me. Holy fuck."

"Mm, just about."

They lie there for what feels like forever before Charles says they have to get up. "Open a window, would you?" he asks, transferring to his chair with a flop. "The kids will be back, and I don't want them exposed to all this."

Erik isn't about to disagree, though he wishes Charles weren't about to shower the smell of them off and cover himself up again.

Then he hears Charles call, "Shower with me?" and Erik sprints from the bedroom to the bathroom.

He isn't too proud to admit that when Charles sits on the chair in the shower, Erik kneels over his lap expressly for the purpose of soaping them up and getting Charles hard again so they can get off a second time.

 

xx

 

Gabby and the children return in time to find Erik and Charles locked in a one-way competition over a _Jeopardy!_ rerun. Erik is back in his original clothes, save the boxers Charles is lending him, and Charles is a warm lump cuddled up in jeans and a massive sweatshirt. Erik's hair is dry; Charles' is not.

"Ha! It was Socrates, asshole," Charles is saying, vicious pleasure nudging at Erik's mind as the show fades to commercial. "Not _Sophocles_ , you Philistine."

"Bad word!" Lorna whoops as her siblings slip past. "Papa said a bad word. Quarter!"

Charles winces. "Damn. Erik, do you remember where I left my wallet?"

"Two quarters!"

Erik does not remember, but he can find it and float it over.

Charles plucks it out of the air with one hand, uses the other to hoist Lorna into his lap. As he does, Erik risks a look at Gabby. He and Charles may only be sitting next to each other, but exes have a sixth sense about these things. Even if Erik didn't like Gabby so much, he wouldn't want to make her uncomfortable.

She doesn't look upset, but she doesn't look happy either. When their eyes meet, she draws herself up. "Erik, would you help me in the kitchen for a moment?"

"No problem." _Be back in a minute,_ Erik says to Charles. He gets up and scoots around the father-daughter argument over whether five dimes are an acceptable alternative to two quarters.

They take their seats in silence, stay that way for a long minute as Gabby plays with her bracelet. Erik tries to read her mood and fails. Is this going to be a shovel talk? A warning to back off?

Gabby lets out a shaky breath. "When we got married," she says, "I thought Charles and I would be together forever. When I signed the divorce papers, I thought we were going to hurt forever." Eyes flicking up to Erik's, she quirks a sad smile at him. "Now, I think I was wrong on both counts."

Not sure where this is going, Erik waits for her to elaborate.

Gabby huffs. "Sorry. It's just... If you two do this, you're not just getting Charles. You're getting his kids. Our kids. You're getting me, too."

"I know that."

"Do you?" She shakes her head. "I like you, Erik. You're a good guy, and you make Charles happy.  The kids like you. What more could a girl ask for in her ex-husband's new beau? "

"What indeed?" Erik mutters.

"I heard that, and I hate to ask it, but I have to. Can you really be all right with me being in your life? Charles and I were married for years, Erik. We have jokes and secrets and memories that will never involve you. We're both physical people- we'll touch each other. It's not unreasonable to think you'd get jealous. I would. So before he invests his heart in you even more, I have to know. Can you accept me? Can you accept _us_?"

She has a point. Erik isn't good at sharing the people in his life, never has been. Charles' situation is the most complicated Erik has ever gotten into. It won't be easy to share him, not even with the kids. With Gabby, it will be more difficult. Erik will never have a monopoly on Charles. Not even now, in the beginning.

"I can do it," he says, resolute. "I want to do it."

Gabby accepts that and pats his hand. "Don't you fuck him over, Lehnsherr, or I swear, I'll make you regret it."

Message received, Erik nods, and a moment later, Wanda comes in.  She nods at them but makes a beeline for the fridge where she rummages around for a time before asking, "Has anyone seen the hot water bottle? Pietro ran too soon after he ate again."

Erik and Gabby answer in stereo, "Drawer below the sink."

Forehead wrinkling, Gabby says, "Please let that be a onetime thing."

"It better be," Erik grumbles.

They don't linger long on the incident as Charles shouts for Erik to come back and watch the show’s champion continue getting his ass handed to him by Charles. Gabby follows him but gathers Lorna from Charles and takes the chair next to them, the better to grumble to her about annoying, competitive men.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Erik brings Charles lunch for their first date. He has to find his way through the college campus to Charles' office first, though, and only his familiarity with Charles' chair keeps him from embarrassing himself with the first chair he senses. He dodges past a girl who looks nothing like Charles with a sense of bone-deep relief that he didn't assume she was Charles that lasts until he sees the person he actually came for, at which point it dissolves under a burst of happiness.

Charles accepts the flowers Erik brought him with a laugh and pulls out his own bunch, which Erik takes with a matching burst of amusement.

They eat the lunch Erik packed and brought with him there in the office, leaning together and grumbling mildly about the news. Charles is exhausted from learning to walk on his own and simply doesn't have the energy to spare for a proper, heated debate. Erik doesn't mind. He likes just sitting together. It's good. It's really good.

Not all their dates go that way. Erik isn't the easiest man to get along with at the best of times. He forgets that Charles is always tired and sore, even when he looks well-rested. They don't have sex regularly, and when they do, it's slow when they're happy and over too quickly when they're angry.

Erik tries to be available for Charles to talk to, but prom season is coming. Upper class high schools built the foundation of the shop. Erik couldn't afford to spurn them if he wanted to. Which he doesn't. He likes building them their new crowns. They always have new designs. Some are good; some are ugly. All make him smile.

The children get into trouble. They make Erik laugh and Charles bury his head in his hands. Lorna's vocabulary grows, as does her crush on a kid in her class. Wanda starts dating a strange guy who calls himself Vision; no one knows what to do with him, though he does smile happily when Erik, to the groans of all around, compliments him on his cape. Pietro doesn't get to run track competitively, but his coach lets him work out and practice with the team, which gives him something to do other than steal things and get marched back to the stores to return them and apologize.

Gabby mostly sees them when she comes by to have time with the kids. Erik wasn't privy to the relocation discussion, but at some point, she and Charles must have talked it out, because she comes by like clockwork. The children alternate between vaguely happy to see her and excited- depending on how angry they are with Erik and Charles. Watching Charles hug her and kiss her cheeks does make jealousy rumble in Erik's gut, but the way Charles brightens when he sees him, the way he leans bonelessly against Erik when the children head off with Gabby, the softening of his eyes when he says Erik is a good man, makes the fleeting emotion worth it.

 

**_xx_ **

 

Dating Charles is complicated but not as complicated as keeping the ring from him. Erik isn't sure why he's making a secret of Gabby having him fix the ring, only that it feels like he should. The work is slow going. Most of Erik's jobs are creation rather than maintenance; the ring proves challenging in that and in its intricacy. Whoever made it must have been truly gifted. Even with his gift, Erik would have had difficulty matching the craftsmanship.

He makes progress, though. Slow, incremental progress.

 

**_xx_ **

 

One of Erik's deepest fears about being with Charles was the children. Wanda and Pietro are old enough that having a new parent could breed resentment, and for the first few months when Erik moves in, that fear comes frighteningly close to reality. It falls to Gabby, whose position in the family has been solidified, to deflect that. She talks Wanda down, sits Pietro down with her, and has a talk with them that ends with a mortified Erik sidling into the room to fumble his way into reconciliation. It isn't the last time Erik's position comes under fire, but it is the most important.

Lorna is a ray of sunshine, thankfully. She gurgles and talks to herself and happily chews on her toes. On the other hand, she calls Erik "Rick", a habit her father mirrors with glee.

"Night, Rick," Charles mumbles as they climb into bed, a smile twitching his lips.

"Be nice to Rick," he says when the children act out.

"Don't wake Rick."

"Rick, will you come here?"

It's annoying, but Erik has learned to bear it. There are worse habits. Besides, Charles always remembers to call him Erik in bed.

 

**_xx_ **

 

It's their first anniversary when Erik decides the time has come to give the ring to Charles. Gabby waved off his offer to let her return the ring months ago ("Thanks for the offer, Rick, but Charles and I made our peace. Giving it back would only make him sad"), and Erik is vibrating with excitement. He can't wait to see Charles' face when Erik returns the ring, now back to its previous state.

Charles uses his prostheses more often than not now and no longer needs someone to be near to support him, so he and Erik walk into the restaurant together, Charles leaning into him just to be near. Erik leans back and, while they wait to be seated, presses a kiss to Charles' freshly shaven cheek.

Darwin leads them to their table with a low but enthusiastic wish for them to have a happy anniversary. He's one of Charles' former students and a good friend of Charles' T.A. His boyfriend is a local cop, a reserved kid named Alex who got himself put in the hospital chasing down the man who broke into the shop a few years back. Erik and Azazel had been reluctantly impressed- especially given the boy got the supplies back. Charles adores both boys.

"The usual?" Darwin asks as they take their seats.

Both of them nod, and Darwin disappears toward the kitchen.

"Happy anniversary, darling," Charles says for the fifth time. He smiles around the words, and Erik gets another mental pulse of warmth from him.

It's only their first, but Erik knows he will never tire of hearing Charles say it. "Happy anniversary," he returns, thinking deliberately about how happy he is.

Charles beams, one hand already sneaking across the table in search of Erik's.

He was going to hold off until after they ate, but as he twines his fingers through Charles', Erik knows he won't be able to wait. He's held this off long enough.

"Charles," he says as seriously as he can when he feels like smiling until his cheeks split, "you know I love you."

"I do know that." Charles must catch some of Erik's anxiety, because his brow furrows.

"And you know I want to make you happy." Charles swallows hard, nods quickly. Erik pulls the bag from his pocket. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. Nothing. No matter how difficult or intricate, I would do it without hesitation for you." Another nod. "I love you, and I hope this makes you certain of it."

He hands the bag over, and though he looks dazed, Charles takes it from him.

"Really, Erik," he says as he slides the drawstring open with shaking hands, "I can't imagine what made you think I wanted anything more than dinner-"

His mouth snaps shut abruptly, and at the same moment, the happiness purring through his gift stutters. Shock, sadness, and, most jarring, anger pour through the link. Erik doesn't get the chance to investigate; Charles rips his gift back into his own head.

Erik may not be able to feel Charles' disappointment, but he can see it clearly.

 _Mistake,_ Erik's mind blares at him. _Mistake mistake mistake._

"Charles? Is something wrong?"

For a moment, Charles looks so open, Erik thinks he's going to get an answer. Then Charles slams his walls up and plasters a benign smile over his face.

Erik has that smile.

"Thank you, Erik," Charles says graciously. "I know what happened, and I’d given up hope it would ever be restored. You did wonderful work on it."

Something is wrong, but what? What did Erik do?

"Charles?"

"It's beautiful," Charles praises. "I didn't know you were so good at the fine detail, though I should have. You did a beautiful job with that crown you made Wanda."

They fall into uncomfortable silence when Darwin arrives with their meal. Charles takes his hand back to eat and makes no move to return it, so Erik is forced, after a humiliating wait, to take back his own. He must have made a bigger mistake than he thought if Charles won't even touch him; usually their meals are full contact, whether Charles is relearning to play footsie or holding Erik's hand.

Erik can't help but be stung by the rejection. He only worked on the damn thing to make Charles happy. He doesn't particularly care for gold- it's too malleable to warrant making anything good that will touch skin, as most jewelry does. Yet he spent months sweating over a damn ring Charles doesn't even want.

They pass on dessert, and Darwin, no doubt sensing the tension, makes no move to entreat them.

At least someone is on top of things tonight.

By the time they get back to the apartment, Charles is looking guilty and Erik has worked himself into a mood.

"I'm going for a run," Erik tells him as they strip down.

Charles looks at the rapidly falling darkness and opens his mouth to argue. Erik glares at him until he shuts it.

On his way out, he hears Charles ask him to be careful.

Erik responds by pulling the door shut firmly behind himself.

 

**_xx_ **

 

A frost settles between them and refuses to melt. Erik won't beg to be let back in, and Charles refuses to make the first move, so Erik takes to sleeping on the couch. Gabby finds him like that more than once. Her eyes rake over him without judgment or pity, only disappointment.

Erik refuses to engage with her. He deals with enough disappointment from his silent partner.

The children grow too quiet.

Charles makes no move to entreat Erik out of his self-imposed exile. They don't kiss. They don't touch.

It's like living with a ghost.

Erik is sitting on the recliner, an exhausted Lorna asleep on his lap, when Gabby pauses in her retreat one night.

"All right," she says briskly, turning around and taking off her jacket. She takes the chair next to Erik with a sigh. "You two aren't getting past whatever this is on your own, and I'm starting to worry about the children. So: what happened?"

Erik has told the story exactly once before. Azazel heard it, squinted, and helpfully told Erik he "probably fucked up somewhere". Gabby can only be more useful.

"You gave it to him on your anniversary," she interrupts, eyes going wide. "Tell me you're kidding."

Erik scowls.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Erik. You talked him up like you were going to propose, then slapped him with his previous failed attempt."

"I did not talk him up."

"Erik, I am telling you this as a friend. You are not an effusive guy when it comes to 'I love you's. All that stuff you said about nothing being too much to do for Charles? That's half a proposal. But you ended that heartfelt message with a massive fuck you."

"But I fixed it," Erik protests.

Gabby groans and pinches the bridge finger nose. "That's exactly the problem. You fixed what I broke. You don't think Charles, lover of all things symbolic, would have made that connection?"

"Charles isn't broken."

"Don't be obtuse. You know how he gets."

He sighs and casts his mind over the evening one more time. He had figured the ring had something to do with Charles' mood. It's true Charles is sensitive about his legs and his relationship with Gabby. They hardly impact Erik's life, beyond making it easier to find Charles and being something to keep an eye on lest he break his foot stumbling over them in the dark, and he never felt Charles was less than whole. They do everything a couple typically does, just a little slower sometimes. And Erik had to learn during the summer not to reach out and touch Charles' leg the few times he wore shorts. Charles hadn't found Erik getting burnt on his leg nearly as funny as Erik had thought.

Yet Charles is reluctant to sleep wrapped up with Erik. When they have sex, it's always in a position where Erik won't have a reason to notice Charles' legs. He almost never wears shorts or spends time just lying with Erik without the artificial legs, no matter how cumbersome they make it.

"I fucked up, didn't I?"

Gabby snorts. "Yeah, you did. But you can fix it."

"How?" Erik asks, at a loss.

She gives him a long look that suggests he's being especially slow. "You're asking me?"

 

**_xx_ **

 

In the end, Erik decides to take the direct approach. He beats Charles home the next time Gabby takes the kids, promises to pay for her to have dinner somewhere exorbitant if she agrees to keep the children with her overnight, and sits down on the edge of the bed to wait for Charles. It takes longer than he anticipated, and Erik winds up stretching out and falling asleep in the middle of the bed.

He wakes to someone cursing softly.

"Charles?" he asks thickly.

Something thumps heavily, and Charles swears under his breath. "Sorry. I was just leaving."

"I think we should talk."

"Now is really not-"

"I don't think you're broken."

The sounds of Charles moving around come to a stop. "Sorry?"

"You aren't broken," Erik repeats. "I never thought you were. Gabby said the ring was a family heirloom, and I thought fixing it would make you happy. It really did take forever, and you know how I feel about gold, so I figured you'd understand that even if I don't care about something for its own sake, I'll care about it if you do. I didn't think you'd take it to mean I thought _you_ needed to be fixed." Rubbing a hand over his face, he admits, "I didn't think enough about it at all."

Charles makes a noise like half a sob, and the bed dips as he stumbles over. "You mean that," he breathes, hands coming up to frame Erik's face. "You strange, sweet man, you really mean that."

Rather than reply, Erik puts his arms around Charles’ waist and sinks back into the mattress, pulling Charles down between his legs as he goes. Charles doesn’t fight him.

“Are you not angry with me anymore?”

_I wasn’t angry with you before._

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not. I was hurt and upset. You were the one who was angry.”

He has a point. “Can we agree we’re past it?” Erik asks, firming up his grasp. Charles lets out a breath and relaxes into the embrace, his own arms sneaking up under Erik’s neck. The sound that escapes him this time is only happy.

_We can._

_So I can kiss you again now?_ He doesn’t wait for an answer, just cranes his neck and seals his lips to Charles’. The kiss quickly turns hot. Erik hasn’t had so much as one of Charles’ absent touches; he’s grown accustomed to them, and going without made him itch. The drag of Charles’ palm over his shoulder and down his chest makes him shiver. The familiar weight of him sitting on Erik’s lap loosens the knot of fear in Erik’s chest. When that weight becomes a motion- Charles wriggling out of his shirt, Charles skimming his pants off- it carries a promise.

 _No more hiding,_ Charles tells him over the first thump of a prosthetic hitting the floor.

_You don’t have to._

_I want to._

That’s what it comes down to, and when Erik pushes in, one of Charles’ thighs cradled in his palm, he could drown in the sea that comprises the man panting against his lips, stubble catching on Erik’s own.

 

**_xx_ **

 

They get married in March. The weather is awful; everyone is cranky; Lorna gets bored and wanders off, and only the rabbi’s daughter notices in time to cut a panic short. The wedding cake gets knocked over. Another couple might count the day as a disaster, but Erik stood under the _chuppah_ and bound himself to Charles. The rest is just noise.

That said, having Chares’ friends from his unit was an experience. He could have done without Sam and Bucky getting in the almost-friendly fist fight that ruined the cake in the first place. Steve’s decision to shove them both away and into other guests hadn’t helped the matter, though Vision’s quick intervention kept things from getting out of hand. Charles’ having the prescience to order a second cake just in case was less important to Erik’s decision not to tear into them than the soothing hand on his back and rabbi’s eye roll.

When he finally takes Charles away, Erik has to stop at the first stop sign and wipe at his eyes.

His husband mops up the tears with the edge of his sleeve, but the tears only come back.

“You’re a mess,” Charles murmurs fondly.

“We left the children with Azazel,” Erik reminds him through his hands. “What responsible parent wouldn’t be worried?”

“One who knows the children adore that man, as does the parent in question.”

Letting out a shaky breath, Erik swallows around the lump in his throat. “I love you,” he tells his husband, and Charles has hardly breathed, “And I love you,” before he presses a kiss to Erik’s cheek.

“Now,” he says, straightening, “let’s get out of here before someone finds out we haven’t left yet.”

Erik is only too happy to comply.

**Author's Note:**

> cw: Erik and Wanda have a discussion about being in foster care that implies abuse and/or neglect
> 
> ETA: Now with a prologue! Which conveniently ignores the fact that MF is a ginger, and gingers have been flat out rejected by the world's biggest sperm bank. ~~Never mind that it's a recessive gene and unlikely to present in your kids.~~
> 
> The title is from Siegfried Sasson’s poem [“The Humbled Heart”](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/43175).


End file.
